Chapter 40
Chapter Forty
Delilah
The sky is doing strange things. As if it knows my heart is breaking in two, it’s putting on a show meant only for me, to make the moment hurt a little less. Pink, fluffy clouds billow and break around spectacular orange light. The sun is setting, and this is its curtain call. Soon Dad will be home from the band concert, and Truett will be out on his date. A date I didn’t even know he had.
Until now.
“I’m probably making a bigger deal out of it than it needs to be,” Truett says. He’s pacing in the patch of sawgrass, close to the water’s edge. It’s early yet in the spring, so the grass is still withered and brown. It crunches beneath his steps, breaking up his anxious mumbling. “I mean, Molly told Robin who told Jason who told me. For all I know, it’s a prank and when I show up, she won’t even be there.”
The responding noise sits low in my throat. I gaze up at Truett from my spot resting against the willow tree’s trunk. He’s beautiful. Always has been, with his mess of brownish-blond waves and eyes that mimic the ocean on a stormy day. He’s gangly, sure, but he fills out more each day thanks to long hours spent working the farm with his father. He still doesn’t realize it, though. Doesn’t see the way girls at school look at him. The way I look at him.
I never had the courage to tell him. And now I’m too late.
“Are you listening, Temptress?”
I curl my nose at the nickname. He only says it because he knows it bothers me. Because I was not, in fact, listening to his rambling, and that name is the only surefire way to grab my attention.
“What did I miss?”
I know all of Tru’s faces. The stoic one he puts on when his father is giving out, which involves a taut jaw and guarded eyes. When he’s nervous, his cheeks turn ruddy and he carves trenches into his bottom lip with pearlescent teeth. My favorite is when something has him really excited, because his lips spread into a miraculous smile and his dimple makes an appearance, leaving me speechless.
But I don’t know this face. The one he makes when he pauses in his path, brow furrowed, and peers down at me with a question in his gaze so soft it’s more pleading than inquiry.
His hand pulses at his side. I press mine against my stomach, which has suddenly flipped.
“Would you practice with me?”
My mouth dries out. “Practice? What are you even talking about?”
He closes the distance between us in a few easy strides. Then he’s kneeling in front of me, one Wrangler-clad knee brushing the dirt while he rests his sun-tanned forearm on the other. “Kissing. It’s been a while, and I don’t wanna look like an idiot with Molly.”
“Truett, are you sick?” I reach up and press the back of my hand to his forehead. Try to ignore how perfect his skin feels against my own. “Because what you’re saying is crazy. Kissing is like…I don’t know, riding a bike. Or wrangling a calf, for you. You don’t really forget how.”
Not that I would know. But I’m definitely not going to tell him that. Because despite the tingling in my fingertips and the burning sensation in my chest, the nerves and the jealousy, I find myself leaning closer. Parting my lips a touch. I want him to do this, I realize. Even if it’s practice for someone else. It might be the only chance I ever get to kiss him, and as a bonus, he doesn’t even have to know I want it.
“Please, Delilah.” His brows huddle close, and he folds his hands in pleading. “I won’t tell anyone. I promise.”
There’s a shift inside my chest as my heart settles into the chamber of my ribs. I don’t want to be a secret to him. I want to be everything.
But looking into his wide gray gaze, taking in the fault line along his full bottom lip, the stubble at his jaw…I know that I’ll take what I can get.
Still, I can’t look too eager. So I set a boundary and hope his penchant for breaking the rules holds true.
“Fine.” I narrow my gaze. “But only one.”
He nods. “I can work with that.”
“Okay, so…” I hold up my hands by my head and raise a brow. “How do you want to do this?”
“Um, why don’t we stand up?”
“Makes sense.”
I rise at the same time as him. We dust off our pants—my ass, his knee—in an awkward pulse of silence. When our gazes meet again, his eyes are soft, the gray diluted. They reflect the orange and pink sky back to me; a perfect mirror.
“Now close your eyes.”
“Not a chance.” If this is the only time I’ll ever get to kiss Truett, I want to see him coming .
His hands slap against his thighs. “You can’t kiss with your eyes open, Delilah!”
I cross my arms over my chest, ignoring the thrill that courses through me when his gaze drops to my nonexistent cleavage, even if it only lasts a second. “If you’re such an expert, then I guess you don’t need my help.”
“So difficult,” he groans.
And he’s right, but what he doesn’t realize is that I’m only ever difficult with him. Never with my parents, my teachers, or other friends like Alicia. Only Truett.
I give him hell because he can take it. Because he won’t think less of me for it.
I shrug. “Those are my terms. Take it or leave it.”
He rolls his eyes, capturing a panorama of the sky in one fluid motion. “Whatever. Eyes open, and only once?”
“Eyes open. Only once.” My breath is choppy now, my words a kaleidoscope of splintered sounds. It’s settling in. Truett Parker is going to kiss me. Me. It’s a fever dream come to life.
Except for the part where it’s for some other girl. But I can compartmentalize with the best of them.
He steps forward, slipping his hands around my waist. My skin jumps at the sensation, even through the thin fabric of my lightweight sweater. His arms are muscled and firm against all my soft. I melt into them without meaning to.
Our gazes meet, frantic in the fading light. I’ve never seen him so close. I could count the faint freckles on the bridge of his nose, the one darker beneath the corner of his right eye. Memorize the thousand shades of gold that make up his hair. The purest gray-blue stones that are his irises.
I could, if I had the time.
“Don’t be nervous,” he whispers. His breath brushes my lips. It’s Big Red gum and minty toothpaste, like he knew this was happening all along. “I’ll take care of you. ”
And then he kisses me. Our lips meet, two strangers that somehow know each other already, like they met in another lifetime. It’s my very first. And my second. And my third.
My eyes drift closed. Strong, fumbling hands roam my back. I forget my rules. He forgets them, too. We kiss until our lips are bruised and our breath is quick. Until the sun finally disappears and leaves us blanketed in darkness.
The only promise he keeps is his last. He takes care of me. Truett always does.
I shut off the car, letting the engine go dead around us. Dad wastes no time releasing his seat belt and opening his door. When he’s out, he stretches his arms above his head and groans like it was a long road trip rather than a short drive from the Grille.
I, however, linger in the quiet. The calm before the storm in Truett’s eyes. He’s sitting on the front porch steps, a faded Alabama baseball cap cradled in his hands. When he glances up, there’s pain in his gaze. Anger, too. And who could blame him? The man who was once the boy I kissed beneath the shade of a willow tree, who promised to take care of me, is trying to do so still. And I’ve done everything in my power to stop him.
As I pull myself from the car, I’m struck by how similar this feels to the day I arrived home. Trepidation quakes in my belly, filling me with a sharp-winged breed of butterflies. But there’s determination, too, steeling my spine. I always planned to do the right thing. It just took me until today to finally understand what that truly means. All I can do is hope that I’m not too late.
Dad smiles when he spots Tru, and his arms fly wide. “Truett! Haven’t seen you in a minute.”
Tru stands, wipes his hands on his jeans, and embraces my dad when he steps within reach. “Missed you, old man. Whatcha been up to?”
I purposely slow my steps, not wanting to intrude on their moment. Besides, Truett is intentionally avoiding my gaze as I approach, and I’m tempted to forget my plan and instead attempt to melt into the ground beneath me.
“Oh you know, checking out my new digs,” Dad says, laughing. He seems so much like himself today. Whether because of the chance to play or the weight off his shoulders, I’m not sure. All I know is if his speech wasn’t slow, I’d never know anything was wrong. He rolls his lips, grasping for the next word, and smiles when he finds it. “Did Delilah tell you? I’m blowing this popsicle stand!”
This gets Truett to look at me, and oh, how I wish he wouldn’t. There’s an accusation in his gaze. Something like fear hides beneath it.
Tru’s eyes cut right through me as he asks, “What do you mean?”
I cup my elbow with one hand, the other dangling limp at my side. I study a small dirt stain on Tru’s T-shirt, fresh from the looks of it, so I don’t have to meet his gaze. “Edgewood Assisted Living. We toured it today.”
Dad slips an arm around my shoulders, oblivious to their slump. “They have a baby grand, boy. It’s practically Carnegie Hall.”
I dare to peek up at Tru through my lashes. His jaw ticks as he grinds his molars together. His hands have found his hips. There’s a fresh Band-Aid on his knuckle, with several smaller cuts around it, like he got caught on a bit of fencing. I focus on that rather than the disappointment in his stare. The disbelief.
I’m not sure if it’s the fact that I’m putting Dad into care, or the implications behind it, that earn me that look .
“They have a wait-list. So it’ll be a little while,” I say in case it’s the latter.
Truett’s nod is curt and quick. “How long is a while?”
I bite the inside of my cheek. Hard. Tears prick my eyes, and I blink them back. “Could be a month. Could be longer.”
Truett mumbles a noncommittal hum, though he looks like he’s taken a blow to the chest. “Henry, do you mind if Delilah and I chat for a sec?”
“Sure”—Dad wiggles his eyebrows—“you two take all the time you need.”
I reach for my father, catching the sleeve of his threadbare plaid button-down. “Are you sure, Dad? It’s been a rough day.”
The truth is, I do need to talk to Truett. But the obligation to check in, to put Dad’s needs above my own, is strong. Maybe one day I’ll learn to lay them down or to lift myself above, but today is not that day.
He pats my hand gingerly, a knowing smile playing on his wobbling lips. “I’ll be all right, sweet pea. Gonna watch some TV for a bit.”
“Okay.” I let him go, but I find myself checking his gait as he climbs the steps to the front door. Making sure he slips from his shoes where he always does and walks inside without hesitation. No signs that an episode is imminent, but then, there aren’t always.
“So that’s it, then?”
I tear my gaze from Dad’s silhouette through the windows and focus on Tru. His arms are crossed over his broad chest. He’s replaced the hat on his head, and its brim rides low, turning his gaze almost black in its shade. This version of him is all hard lines and stony facade. I know it well. I tried to build one like it for myself, only for life to shatter it without a second thought.
“I know you’ve seen my texts. My calls. The voicemail.” His gaze is hard, daring me to disagree. “I meant what I said, Delilah. I’m not giving up without a fight this time. I’m here on your doorstep to beg you to please talk to me. Let me in.” He licks his lips. Draws in a short breath. “So you’re what, leaving? Is that what you were avoiding me for? You didn’t have the guts to tell me you were done? I think I deserve better than this, Delilah. I really do.”
“It’s not that. I—” My voice splinters off. I swallow it, adding to the coating of regret lining my throat. Every excuse dies off in my lungs. What good are they? They don’t undo the hurt. I know that better than anyone. So instead I reach for Tru’s hand. Tug it loose from his folded arms. I hold it like a promise, a prayer, as I take a note from his book and whisper, “You’re right, and I’m sorry.”
His eyes widen. Perfectly white teeth puncture the plush curve of his bottom lip. He shakes his head slowly, giving my words time to catch up.
“Are you really leaving?”
I open my mouth to answer, but the sound of a cabinet closing steals my attention. My gaze flickers to the house, and my lips flatline.
“Can we go somewhere else to talk?” I nod toward the closest window, at my father who suddenly makes himself very busy with the kitchen sink. “Somewhere a little more private?”
Truett lets out a strained laugh. The color is still leached from his cheeks, but his eyes are lighter. Glossy with unshed tears. “The river?”
I nod. “Perfect.”
He releases my hand, sweeping his in front of us toward the four-wheeler I hadn’t noticed parked beside the largest live oak. “Lead the way.”
I do. But not before calling over my shoulder, “ TURN OFF THE SINK BEFORE YOU FLOOD THE PLACE. ”
I swear Dad’s chuckle follows me all the way to the ATV.